A Flourishing Flame
by LuvEwan
Summary: A milestone of young Obi-Wan Kenobi's life is celebrated among the unusual circumstances of a mission. Four years prior to TPM.


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A Flourishing Flame

A Vignette by LuvEwan

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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A milestone of young Obi-Wan Kenobi's life is celebrated among the unusual circumstances of a mission. Four years prior to TPM.

Okay, okay. I admit, this was inspired mostly by, well, me. The idea was sparked on the (boring) eve of my eighteenth birthday, so of course the subject was foremost in my mind, and it seemed as good a topic as any to tackle. What better way to overcome (I hope) writer's block on multiple stories, than to write a quickie?

(())

"That's a load of rotted, Garblian _garbage._" A gruff voice chortled. "You've had the verse go completely screwy at the best part!"

"Sorry, my _friend_, but the verse is correct--and as for what is ruled as the 'best part'…that depends solely on opinion."

In the gutted cavern, five ambassadors of the Republic were gathered. Outside the mottled rock walls, a breeze sifted through the leaves and whistled sharply. But nature's cool aria could not steal, nor soothe, the heated words between Chorb Liyu of Douglai VI and the Garblia resident Birel.

Chorb was a thickly built humanoid, his only contrasting feature from normal men being the bruise-purple tint of his skin. He was large in stature as well, towering over all others in the musty shelter, with muscles that seemed to strain against vein and flesh. He was sitting on a boulder, stripped to the waist, for although the night held chill for the rest, his unique skin was glazed with sweat.

The Douglai and the Garblians were quasi adversaries, joining in battle and politics when necessary, but forever separated by an age-old, but hardly severe, feud. And while the two appeared genuine in their frustrations with one another, more joy was garnered from the bickering than anything else.

"To hell with opinions! There's no opinion about what's right and what's wrong. That kind of stuff is set in stone." Chorb's coal eyes flickered with wicked humor. "And _I _know what's right."

Birel lifted an eyebrow. "I take it you credit yourself as the sculptor?"

The hulking figure leaned forward with a menacing grin. "You bet your bony Garblian butt."

And although it was less than delicately worded, Chorb's physical assessment of Birel was correct. Unlike his hulking counterpart, Birel _was _human. The Garblian strain of the race were naturally slender, with bones jutting out at the ankles, wrists, and pointed at the chin. Their faces were drained of color, save the yellow flush that lined prominent cheekbones, leading back into similarly hued, thin locks. Overall, Garblians were a nondescript group and largely underestimated by potential enemies. For within their narrow skulls were housed brilliant minds, intelligence granted to perhaps compensate for their gaunt appearance.

That was one thing about them that bugged Chorb. With their barely concealed skeletons and deep-set eyes, they always looked so damn _hungry._

"Hey, hey." Aurel Frith had been keeping mostly to herself during the animated conversation, contented to watch with laughing chestnut eyes the absurd jabs made by her fellow ambassadors. But now she felt compelled to join in, and moved from her shadowed spot in a corner of the cave to sit beside them. "How in hells did you both fool the Republic into allowing you to represent them? You two are ridiculous!"

Both Chorb and Birel turned to the woman, clad in a pale green linen top and loose ivory trousers. She was of average weight and height, with brunette hair that brushed across her shoulders. Not particularly breath-taking, but being the sole female in a group of males somehow increased her appeal.

"Besides," Aurel added with a small smile, the gold ambience reflected from the fire to her face, "You're both wrong."

Hilariously miffed reactions echoed in the small space.

Chorb laughed with hearty disbelief. "How's that?"

Aurel glanced at Qui-Gon Jinn, who looked back at her with a conspiratorial smirk. She fought the giggle bubbling in her throat and regarded the two again. "Well, you've forgotten that we have not one, but _two _Jedi here, gentlemen. A _Master _of the Order, even."

"How does that concern our debate?" Birel wondered.

Taking that as his cue, Qui-Gon straightened and cleared his throat. Where there would have been shining mirth in his eyes was a feigned solemnity. "I suppose as Jedi we sometimes expect the outside worlds to know everything about our curriculum. But I see you both are unaware of our intense study of foreign culture. That includes literature, art--and music. Isn't that right, Padawan?"

To complete the companionable circle around the fire, Obi-Wan Kenobi was sitting cross-legged on the dusty ground beside his mentor. He didn't smile when the man asked for reassurance. This was a ruse, after all. And Obi-Wan had always loved them. That Qui-Gon was initiating the game made it that more enjoyable. So he stretched his rusty acting chops, and said in a restrained tone, "Yes, Master."

"You see?" Aurel shrugged at Chorb and Birel. "They know better than most how to resolve your tiff."

The gears turned in Chorb's head and in his eyes. "Hmph. Well, I suppose it's better than arguing with this sack of bones all night." He cocked his thumb toward Birel, then focused on Qui-Gon. "What d'you think the right words are?"

A silent chuckle passed from female to Padawan to Master. Qui-Gon kindled the humor in a mental communication with his student.

__

'Well, Obi-Wan, what do you think?'

Obi-Wan kept his features finely schooled, leaning back on his palms and stealing a split second look at Qui-Gon. _'Your call, Master.'_

'Agh, leave all the work to me, you ingrate.'

Obi-Wan bit back a smile and waited for the all-important question to be answered.

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment, then tapped his finger against his chin. "What were the verses again?"

"They were-" Birel began, but Chorb cut him off.

"I'll take care of it." He swallowed, then took a giant breath, "It goes:" And in a rumbling baritone:

"I have a love that misses me so,

When I'm alone, the sadness grows

My heart will stay still, oh yes it will

And so I suffer the toll."

"Liar!" Birel cried.

Qui-Gon held up a quieting hand. "Please. I am quite familiar with the tune. The _correct _tune, that is."

Aurel and Obi-Wan prepared with tensed stomachs for the Master to carry out their sinister little plan. When he began to sing, it was in a surprisingly fragile voice, but the beauty of it was undeniable.

"I have a glove that needs to be sewn,

Not at the fingers, but the toes

I'd search for a tailor's skill but I fear the bill

And so I suffer the holes."

The ensuing silence was rife with two emotions: outrage and delight.

It was Obi-Wan who broke first. The identical horror drawn on the contrasting pair of faces was simply too much. He doubled over against Qui-Gon, laughing.

Aurel and Qui-Gon quickly followed suit, until the cave reverberated with the snickering rapture.

"Well," Birel huffed, the saffron flush deepening when he was ignored, "We should skin you for such irreverence!"

"Yeah," Chorb agreed, "And I would, except" He grinned widely, "I think I like your lyrics better than the original!"

That sent the last two stubborn members of the group into hysterics.

Eventually, the laughter petered out, and Obi-Wan sat upright again, grabbing at his aching side while simultaneously wiping away tears.

Aurel's cheeks had bloomed bright red. "Oh gods." A hand flew to her chest. "You've nearly killed me, Master Jinn."

"Indeed, Master," Obi-Wan flashed his slightly crooked smile, "I never knew you were so adept at songwriting."

"As they say, Obi-Wan. You learn something new every day."

(())

The moon's glow touched the mouth of the cave tentatively before reaching for a caress, ushering full night into the primitive shelter of the Republic ambassadors in mellow blue tones. The fire licked and crackled in the wind, scarlet and emblazoned orange that bit back the mild midnight shades from overtaking the space.

Birel drew his willowy arms around his thin, hunched frame. "Gods alive it's freezing in here. Do we have any more fuel for the fire?"

"Eh, the fire's big enough." Chorb interjected. Perspiration had begun to drip from his chiseled chin, and a spike in the temperature was the _last thing _he needed. "Maybe if you _ate _something once in a while, you'd have better insulation."

"Well, I have some meat on my bones and I'm _still _cold as a snowball on Hoth." Aurel pulled in her flowing blouse tighter.

In unison, the Jedi offered their heavy cloaks to the woman. Aurel's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly composed herself and accepted the warmth. "Thank you." She looped her arms into the Padawan's billowing sleeves.

Obi-Wan sat down again, and Qui-Gon handed the shivering Garblian his robe.

"Won't you two be cold?" Birel wondered.

"The Force has its own way of generating heat." The Master explained. "I assure you we're quite comfortable."

"When I want to feel warm, I just think of a warm place." Aurel smiled.

"So dream of a desert and give me that cloak!" Birel deadpanned, eliciting light laughter from his compatriots.

Obi-Wan pulled his knees up to his chest and listened while the conversation turned to general topics, sprinkled with friendly banter and, of course, good-natured arguments between Birel and Chorb.

It was not often a mission allowed relief to the intensity and grit of the usual Jedi assignments. Even more rare was the genuine rapport between all of them, cultural differences aside. Frequently, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were limited exclusively to one another's company, either in the Temple or during a mission where inhospitable partners made it impossible to form outside friendships of any sort.

But today was a special one for the apprentice, although he had never mentioned it aloud during the stretch of hours that led them to this cave. Perhaps if they were home, not busied by Temple tasks and near strangers, he would mention that today marked the anniversary of his birth--the twenty-first anniversary.

It was silly of him, he knew, to feel that thrum of excitement in his gut. On an occasion that announced his maturity, at least in the eyes of the gamblers and bartenders on Coruscant, he was (inwardly) as giddy as a child. He had dreamt of this moment since he was very young.

Although, his Master would be quick to remind him, he was still very young.

He was thankful, with a tiny stirring of selfishness, that his birthday found them among pleasant company, instead of the more gristly alternatives. Perhaps he wasn't surrounded by streamers and his favorite confections, but things could be far worse.

Obi-Wan glanced at the shadows that danced in dark bursts on the cave walls. Sometimes, after a particularly draining mission, he entertained the morbid possibility that he wouldn't even live to reach this milestone age. There were Jedi with white beards and canes at the Temple, it was true, but there were also tombs that lined the memorial cemetery.

Friends he had known from his childhood.

Heroes, _casualties_, younger than he was.

No one was guaranteed another tomorrow. And certainly not a Jedi.

An arm was draped around his shoulders, and he looked up to see his Master's solemn face. "Heavy thoughts, my Padawan?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "No more than usual."

Qui-Gon studied the multi-hued eyes that were locked with his. Compelled, he smoothed the coppery spikes of hair. "That serious? Can I ask what plagues you?"

The apprentice shrugged with a small smile. "I'll have to admit, Master. I was thinking of myself."

"A worthy subject." Qui-Gon patted his arm. "It explains that brooding look you've adopted tonight."

Obi-Wan's forehead crinkled.

"They say as you age, self-scrutiny intensifies. At twenty-one, you must be more miserable than ever." He grinned and gave a tug to the braid.

The Padawan blinked in a kind of happy bewilderment. "You--"

"Of course I remembered, Obi-Wan. I've done this seven times before. Give me a little credit."

Obi-Wan was sobered by the comment, wetting his lips, his gaze searching. "I just thought that maybe you were--"

"Distracted?"

"No." A flush surfaced on the handsome face. "A mission isn't a distraction from personal matters."

"Yes," A twinkle flitted across Qui-Gon's eyes, "But there are exceptions to every rule. I know you must be wishing for more of a celebration. With Garen, Bant. Friends your own age. And I guess I can't provide that. You're not among the unwrinkled, my charge." He nudged his head toward the weathered group. "But I hope you can be satisfied with what I _can _give."

Obi-Wan smiled softly. "Being with you is more than enough."

"Then I suppose _this_ isn't needed!" Chorb shouted, swishing the contents of a ruby-colored wine bottle.

Obi-Wan's eyes darted to his Master in silent query.

"I do what I can." Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan to his feet along with him.

The five companions stood and waited for the husky Douglai to pour the dark liquid into a cheap, smudged glass.

When Obi-Wan wrapped his fingers around the neck of the flask, it was with a sense of surrealism. Here he was, holding his first taste of liquor, while his mentor stood beside him! _Isn't this thing usually limited to pubs and a…less intimidating audience? _But regardless, here he was.

"Well, are you gonna take a swig or what?" Chorb demanded impatiently.

"Perhaps not all life forms possess the same primitive…thirsts as yours." Birel pointed out.

"You only live once!" Chorb shot back, looking at Obi-Wan as if that granted him ultimate permission.

Birel crossed his arms. "Which means you can't erase past ills."

"If I understand correctly, a mere rite of passage doesn't amount to a sin." Aurel turned a gentle, amused smile to Obi-Wan. "Judging by the name on the bottle, you'll probably spit it out anyway."

"Pah! I'll have you know that's one hundred percent pure Douglai red wine, made from…some kinda berries." Chorb laughed. "I'm always too busy drinking it to read the ingredients!"

"Surprising." Birel muttered.

A little overwhelmed, Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon. "Will you join me?"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I'm afraid we have but the one flask. And I think it would take away from the moment. After all, a Master and Padawan needn't do _everything _together."

Obi-Wan blew out a breath. "Okay then." He took a last look into the quivering, rich red depths. A distinct aroma seeped into his senses. Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan took a long drink.

The others seemed ridiculously on-edge, and formed a tightly webbed silence, interrupted only by the moist sound of Obi-Wan's lips meeting.

He drained the flask and handed it to Chorb.

"Well?" The humanoid asked eagerly.

Obi-Wan smiled. "I didn't spit it out."

"They say the Jedi _are _the epitome of politeness." Birel whispered to the brunette beside him, hiding his words behind a scrawny hand.

Obi-Wan looked over at Qui-Gon, trying to gauge the older man's reaction. "Master?"

Qui-Gon clapped his shoulders. "It seems I have nothing left to teach you, Padawan. I'm the only one here who realizes you dampened your taste perceptions about a millisecond into the drink. And from the smell of that stuff, it was quite a feat indeed!"

At that they both laughed loudly, but their fellow ambassadors were unaware, taking sips (or in Chorb's case, enormous gulps) from the bottle and engaging in lively dialogue.

The Master and Padawan began to talk of small things, but were soon interrupted by the bellowing Chorb.

"One drink and that's it?!" He asked incredulously of Obi-Wan. "I'd think you'd be in for a real challenge!"

Obi-Wan grinned. "Swallowing that sewer sludge was challenge enough!"

Qui-Gon watched as his apprentice was dragged into the core of the circle. He frowned, laying a hand over his heart for a brief moment, for there was a little burst of pain there..

(())

Aurel detached herself from the increasingly drunken festivities and strolled over to where the Jedi Master was sitting, back braced against the cave's craggy wall.

"Not up for a party?" She wondered.

Qui-Gon smiled up at her. "Not up for the chosen beverage."

"Ah. Corellian century-old wine, it's not." Her warm brown eyes flickered to the ground. "Do you mind if I sit?"

"Not at all."

She settled beside him, tucking the edges of Obi-Wan's cloak around her shoulders. The breeze continued its lively, cold swirls through the atmosphere. "I'm not too bright. I think I'm grossly underdressed for the weather."

"Yes, but try wearing a full tunic and robe in sweltering temperatures." Qui-Gon sympathized.

Aurel laughed. "I can imagine." She leaned against the wall. "It was very generous of you and your Padawan to give up your cloaks."

"Obi-Wan has gone through more than his share of them."

"Growth spurts?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "On occasion. But mostly, he gives them to those 'more deserving', as he says. The underprivileged we encounter. Children, the elderly. In that respect, I've never had to doubt him. He's always had an abundance of heart."

Aurel's eyes swept over to the young man, standing between the two extremes of Garblian and Douglai. "I can tell. Why else would he subject himself to _that_?"

A peal of deep laughter. "He's used to interacting with…interesting characters."

Aurel drew his eyes to her, to her sweetly common, aging face. "And I think you'd rather be the one interacting with him right now."

"It's his birthday." Qui-Gon watched his Padawan laugh at a spectacle performed by Birel and couldn't help but usher a smile to his own shadowed face, "I'm just grateful to be with him."

They didn't say anything for a few minutes, then "How long has he been under your tutelage?"

"Eight years. Eight years today." Qui-Gon said, shocking himself with the weakness of his voice. He had never been an overly emotional man. Yet, like so many other things, his apprentice seemed to bring it out in him.

"Does it feel like it was yesterday?"

The Master smirked wearily. "Sometimes. I'll be expecting a young boy and then he turns the corner--and I realize that part of his life, our lives, is over. There's no going back." He heaved a breath, and fine lines creased the skin around his eyes. "Only forward." _And that scares the hell out of me._

Aurel was intrigued by the comments. Over the decades she had spent as an ambassador, she had encountered a few Jedi. And while she knew they weren't composed of stone, she never saw much beyond that mythic exterior. Qui-Gon Jinn _did _look like a remnant from the glory years, a heroic figure with strong features and fierce, striking eyes. But here came the balance, the sensitivity beside the valor when he spoke of his young counterpart, that made him a rarity. "And other times?"

"Other times, when my bones begin to ache and he's getting ahead of me, I know it's become a long apprenticeship. And tonight," Qui-Gon shook his head, "Tonight I know he's taking one more step away for me."

"But it's towards a rewarding future." Arel reminded him gently. "The future teachers want for their students."

Qui-Gon's eyes were fixed in a haze, a place beyond the cave and the tender hour. He felt a blink within himself. A fleeting instance of clarity, where all confusion and rigid commitment gave way to the basic sentiment of his soul. _But what father wants their child to leave him? _The question was brought up into a strange inner stillness.

And then it was his eyes that were blinking, quickly dissipating whatever had been occurring within him. "He won't have it easy." Qui-Gon murmured, in a low tone.

A burst of wild laughter erupted in their rocky shell, a reaction from a shared joke among the unlikely trio.

Despite the heaviness thickening in his heart, Qui-Gon smiled. "But the Force grants relief. When it can."

(())

For nearly an hour after that, the Jedi and the female ambassador exchanged casual words, of upcoming holidays and funny remembrances of political happenings.

It was not until Chorb, Birel and Obi-Wan dissembled their small party, the youngest unrolling his bedding, did their conversation wane.

"You've proven to be a wonderful woman." Qui-Gon told Aurel, touching her shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Thank you for keeping me company."

"And the same to you." She smiled.

"I would visit more with you, but I think my Padawan has taken perhaps _too much _of an advantage of his newfound rights."

Aurel chuckled, although she was certain it was more of an excuse than anything. "Until morning, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon sketched a bow, then moved to where his sleeping bag, and Obi-Wan, lay. "I see you've enjoyed yourself, Padawan."

Obi-Wan had been curled under the insulated bedroll, but his eyes instantly opened when his mentor spoke. He looked, a little blearily, up at Qui-Gon. "I'm not drunk."

This elicited a quiet laugh from the man. "I know you're not, Obi-Wan. If you were, you'd smell much worse." He settled beneath a layer of sleeping bag, turned to face his Padawan.

The young Jedi sat up. "Watch it, or I might just invite Chorb to sing you to sleep."

Qui-Gon hid his mirth behind a closed mouth. "Shh. He'll hear you."

Around them, the other members were already asleep, and the smoldering din of the fire accompanied their soft snores. Qui-Gon was exhausted from the dying day, but it was their first chance to observe the milestone as he would have intended: alone. "Do you feel any different?"

Obi-Wan reclined on his bedroll, head cushioned by his crossed arms. "Not really. I didn't have _that much _wine." He flashed a grin.

"No, I didn't mean--"

"I know what you mean." The Padawan's eyes were a jeweled gleam in the dark. His voice became small, a raspy tremble. "And I don't know yet."

"Hmm." Qui-Gon stared at the gray mottled ceiling, the molten shadows cast by the flame. "Do you remember your fourteenth birthday?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "The Holarith palace."

Both knew the story, but Qui-Gon felt an urging to tell it again. "Our rooms were separated. Not even adjoined. And that night you sneaked down the hall and into my room."

"Well, I hadn't seen you all day. It was lonely in there." Obi-Wan said, transported by the mere words to his past, and that unbearably solitary feeling in the empty palace room.

"And you said you wanted to tell me good-night." Qui-Gon laughed. "But then I told you to stay, so we could catch up. And we never ended up sleeping, talking through the night."

"I guess some things don't change."

"I guess not." The Master strained to see his charge in the dense darkness. "But you _are _changing, my Padawan. What a privilege it is to witness it."

Obi-Wan felt fingers comb slowly through his hair and the words slipped from his lips, as if independent from his will. "I hope I don't disappoint you."

"Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Not even Master Yoda can be sure. Despite what he may say." Qui-Gon's hand fell to brush along Obi-Wan's cheekbone. "But I cannot imagine a time will come when I regret taking you as an apprentice. We've made it thus far, my Padawan. The paths will be tangled with discord, with uncertainty--and pain. But you have the Light to help you find your way. And once you've outgrown the braid, it will be your own path you must walk.

"But know that you will always have me on your side" His voice was but a breath carried in the quiet, "Know that that is where I've been all along, even when it did not seem so."

Obi-Wan reached up to wrap his fingers around the coarse hand. "If we were on Coruscant right now, I wouldn't be out with Garen and Bant. I would have been content to blow out the candles from a badly frosted cake."

Qui-Gon snorted, then sunk back into the familial intimacy of the moment. "You don't need the candles, young one. The fire is inside you. In the Force, you will always burn bright."

Obi-Wan rested his head feather-light against his Master's shoulder. "Thank you, Master."

They laid there for a moment.

"Will you do me a favor then?" The Padawan asked.

"Sure."

"Will you sing me a song?"

Qui-Gon gave a bark of laughter. "_Maybe _for your thirtieth birthday." He closed his eyes and drummed his fingers against his stomach. "Obi-Wan, was that really your first glass of wine?"

Obi-Wan craned his neck to look up at Qui-Gon. "Wine? Yes."

"Would you tell me if you've had any other alcohol?"

"Hm. Maybe on your sixtieth birthday."

"Padawan!"


End file.
